by Jeanne Allen
SHELTERED ROOTS
COVEY PUBLISHING, LLC
Published by Covey Publishing, LLC
PO Box 550219, Gastonia, NC 28055-0219
Copyright © 2020 by Jeanne Allen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design Copyright © 2020 Covey Publishing, LLC
Book Design by Covey Publishing, LLC, www.coveypublishing.com
Copy Editing by Covey Publishing, LLC
Printed in the United States of America.
First Printing, 2020
Also by Jeanne Allen
The Agora Series
Six Branches
Sheltered Roots
To my parents, the team who instilled in me the power to follow my passions and encouraged me through every badly written story. I owe you more than I can repay in a lifetime, but no, you're still not allowed to read this book.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Glossary of Terms
Regions, Monarch, and Colors
About the Author
Note From The Publisher
Chapter 1
“I see you’ve figured out the makeup thing.”
I look up from the text I’m reading to meet a pair of brilliant-green eyes staring at me.
No way.
“Candice?” I ask hesitantly. There’s no way it’s her, right? PhosU is for Phósopoi only. It sits in the heart of the city, and last I checked, on an invisible island humans can’t access.
“Please.” She rolls her eyes and flops down into the seat beside me. She flips open a compact and fluffs her ridiculously shiny and bouncy chestnut-brown curls. Not bothering to glance up from the mirror, she adds offhandedly, “Call me Candy.”
Too shocked to even internally monologue about the implications of that name choice, I gape at her as my brain frantically tries to figure out what the cheese nuggets is going on. Candy must not feel any of the shock I do because she turns to flash me a small smile before chatting with the girl next to her.
I still need some answers, so I put my hand on her shoulder and clear my throat when she turns those eyes back on me. “I, uh, didn’t know you were…”
“A Phósopoi? Yeah, I gathered that from our first meeting.” She stares at me quizzically. “I figured you weren’t Awakened yet. Though, you still don’t look like you’ve come into your power. What are you doing here?”
Her question isn’t exactly accusatory, but it’s close enough to make me nervous. Thankfully, her suspicions don’t throw me as much as they would have if she asked me yesterday. This morning, Lyle and Lucas drilled into me what I should say if anyone questioned why an unknown, pre-Awakened Phósopoi suddenly transferred into Phóspolis University.
Seventy percent of the student body at PhosU are Kladí and already matured, which makes getting away with our cooked-up backstory easier. Without many Agoras here, no one can tell I’m lying. Most of the Kladí who attend PhosU already obtained degrees from a human university and came here to hone their Gift and study Phósopoi lore and sciences. The rest are pre-Awakened Phósopoi like me or the rare Royal.
The disparity between Agora and Kladí enrollees has to do with politics, as I understand it, or at least it made sense when the twins explained it. Phósopoi are allowed to come to Phóspolis to study at the university for four years, but then they must return to their home region. Immigration to Phóspolis is stringently guarded. Hence the need for a backstory.
I could tell Candy I belong in the rare Royal category, thanks to Jackson, but the guys and I decided I should keep a low-profile at school since we don’t know who killed the Duchess and attacked Sebastian. It was their one stipulation when I begged to attend because I wanted to sate my curiosity on all things Phósopoi and to have something to do that didn’t include waiting for Seb to wake up.
“I, uh, I mean, I’m pre-Awakened, but my family pretty much thinks I’m a Kladí, and my cousin decided to sponsor me to come here. My parents aren’t, you know, doing well.” It’s a far more awkward delivery than we practiced, but it does the job.
Nothing shuts people up like family issues. Especially among the Phósopoi, who consider marital strife a cardinal sin. A side effect of having destined soulmates, I suppose.
Sure enough, Candy asks no more questions. She gives me a somewhat reassuring pat on my arm before turning back to her friend. I try to appear unaffected by Candy’s raised eyebrows and dismissal. I kept her from prying but lost the opportunity to make friends with perhaps the only other Phósopoi from my hometown.
It would have been nice to have someone from home to gripe to about lutefisk and swap state fair stories.
I wipe the fried-snickers-on-a-stick-inspired drool from my mouth when a voice to my left breaks me out of my homesick musings. “Don’t take it personally. She’s a snob because one of her fathers is related to the Queen.”
I turn to find some kind of rock opera god giving me a “let’s be friends” smile. I gulp, nearly choking on the pocket of air forced down my throat as yet another overly attractive Phósopoi catches me unaware. I can’t believe I had thought myself incapable of romance; turns out I’m just a one-species kind of girl. Not that I want anything with the man in front of me. My heart has already been split six-ways thank-you-very-much. I don’t have any left to give away. But a blind man could tell this boy is handsome; there’s no denying that.
Well, maybe not. I’ve never been blind, so I’m not sure about the criteria for esthetics. When one has to feel for it, is symmetry more desirable or does it become less?
I shake my head, mentally chiding myself for getting off track. Boy Wonder is still grinning. His dark navy eyes seem almost purple, and I have to consciously avoid sinking into their deep, velvety color. His charmingly lopsided smile reaches those eyes, causing them to sparkle with friendliness and humor. Tousled black hair frames his classically pleasing face in that rock star I-don’t-care way, making him seem effortless.
Smiling back isn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. I’m surprisingly comfortable with this creature now that I’ve gotten over the shock of seeing his face. Since meeting my Omás, my nervousness around the opposite sex has all but disappeared.
Soulmates are handy sometimes, I guess.
“Which Queen?” I whisper, eyeing Candy who still holds court with the Phósopoi nearest her.
“Queen Jacqueline, of course. The one who counts the most, unless you consider Region Six, but let’s not go there. Candice’s father is Queen J’s second cousin or something, but the way Candy tells it, she’s practically in line for the throne.”
The way he talks, this boy has history with dear-ol’ Candy, but I don’t know hi
m well enough to ask. “Isn’t she? If she’s a second cousin, technically…”
“From her father. Royalty only counts if it comes from the Agora. Unless there’s no heir from the main line.” He looks at me like I should know that.
Maybe I should. “I heard Prince Jackson’s Agora is considered a Royal,” I point out.
“Technically yes, since he’s a direct descendant of the Monarch. But neither he nor his Agora can inherit the throne. Their children can, if Crown Prince Nathaniel doesn’t sire an Agora.”
Talk about dropping a bomb. I just got used to the idea of being a pseudo-Royal, but no one mentioned my kids could potentially rule someday. I do my best to push away all unwanted, panicky thoughts and focus on our conversation. “Oh, yeah, I knew that, I think. Just hard to keep all the Royal lines straight.” I try to sound as nonchalant as possible.
I must succeed because the boy laughs. “I don’t blame you. Never had much interest in it myself. My name’s Kieran, by the way.”
He holds out his hand, which I eagerly take. “Rose. Err, my name is Rose.”
Talk about déjà vu. I hadn’t planned on using my real name, but that changed when I saw Candy. Hopefully, the guys can keep my identity secret a little bit longer; they’ve already pulled all photos of me and any mention of my name or description. Freedom of the press doesn’t apply to Phósopoi, it would seem. I’m about to ask Kieran where he’s from when a hush falls over the classroom.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe he’s actually teaching here.” Candy’s whispered reverence causes me to look up.
“Son of a giblet,” I mutter.
Thankfully, no one hears me as Jackson stalks to the front of the classroom.
The wily Prince hadn’t said a word about this, even as I kissed him goodbye this morning. Unlike when he’s among humans, the stoic and expressionless face I’ve dubbed his Court Mask doesn’t put off the students. Instead, they watch him with rapt awe. Many even look frightened— no, absolutely terrified—by his presence.
What would the reaction be if it were Jin? I smirk at the thought before turning my attention back to the class.
Prince Jackson has come to teach Phósopoi Biology 101.
He’s as stupidly handsome as the day I first saw him.
The only thing keeping me from slipping into inappropriate daydreams unconducive to adequate note-taking is the amusement I get watching Jackson become increasingly annoyed with the students who refuse to refer to him as “Professor Evans.” They prefer, instead, to use his more ostentatious titles like “Your Highness” or “Prince Jackson.”
I barely suppress a giggle when his neck turns positively ruby after one particularly timid Kladí girl stutters out a “Your Highness Prince Professor Jackson Evans Sir,” when called upon to answer a question.
Thankfully, he hasn’t called upon me. I don’t think I could control my reaction to the full attention of those forest-greens, and then everyone would either know who I am or ostracize me for leering at the Prince.
Actually, said Prince hasn’t looked my way at all. I wouldn’t think he’s noticed me at all, except I catch him glaring at Kieran every time my new friend leans over to whisper something to me. In fact, Jackson has taken to glaring at Kieran every time he thinks no one’s watching.
I would find it funny, but the poor guy has noticed and is decidedly not amused at the Prince’s apparent wrath.
After the bell rings, we both stand, grab our bags, and head toward the door.
“I wonder what I did?” Kieran muses to me.
I want to reassure him he did nothing; Professor Evans is just a territorial wheat-muffin. Since I can’t say that, I give him my most encouraging smile and pat his arm. “Probably nothing. Maybe he’s jealous of your hair.”
Kieran grins, ruffling his chin-length locks. “I do have great hair, don’t I?”
I laugh at his wagging eyebrows. Crisis averted.
Almost.
“Ms. Christensen, may I have a moment?” comes a sharp command from behind me.
I sigh and remove my hand from Kieran’s arm, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I’ll meet up with you for lunch.”
He nods and leaves with the rest of the students.
Once the room clears and the doors shut, I turn toward my Kladí, raising an eyebrow at his clenched fists and stiff posture. “You called, your Mightiness?”
Jackson narrows his eyes at my tone, but he doesn’t comment on the title. Instead, he growls out, “Stay away from him.”
“Him?”
“That. Boy.”
“Which boy?” I blame Lucas for the impish smile on my face—that Goblin has been corrupting me from day one.
“You know who I’m talking about,” my Prince huffs, his usual quiet authority overshadowed by childish jealousy.
I get Jackson’s hesitance, but banning me from befriending all males is a bit much. I am not a toy he can refuse to share. “Why? I was just making friends.”
“He thinks you are a pre-Awakened Phósopoi.”
“So? I am a pre-Awakened Phósopoi.”
“That’s beside the point.” Jackson sighs and motions me to take the seat opposite his desk. He sits in his chair with a heavy thud. More déjà vu. “Though Phósopoi are aware they’re destined for an Omás, the wait can be… tedious. Relationships are not forbidden; they’re encouraged, actually.”
“I’m aware,” I clip out. His previous relationship with Princess Nadira is still a sore spot for me.
Jackson’s brows furrow. “Then, you can understand why I want you—”
“You think I’m going to jump any male I come in contact with? What kind of girl do you think I am? I know things with us happened quickly, but I thought—”
“No, no, no. Rose, no. Everything happened normally between us for the Phósopoi. You shouldn’t think—” He lets out a frustrated sigh, running his fingers through his already messy golden-brown hair.
He reaches for my hand, which I give automatically. The contact calms my racing emotions, but it still hurts that one of mine thinks so little of me.
“Hey, hey, listen,” he says gently, reaching to wipe away the tear gathering in the corner of my eye.
I stubbornly refuse to let any more fall; my face burns with the effort.
“First of all, I know you’re not like that. In fact, since you were raised human, our pre-Bonding happened much slower than normal. Don’t think you rushed anything. We rushed you.”
My eyes dry as my thoughts simmer.
Jackson smiles ruefully, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that. Of course, you should make friends, and Kieran is a good Kladí. He will be a good ally to you here.”
I’m a little alarmed at why I would need an ally, but I push the thought away in favor of accepting Jackson’s apology. “So, you’ll stop glaring at him every time he talks to me?”
Jackson stills, grimacing as if he finds the idea distasteful. “I will try.”
At noon, I find myself trudging through the cafeteria doors. My mid-morning class was Phósopoi History, and I’ve never felt so out of depth in my life. Thankfully, the professor didn’t ask me any questions, or I would have made a fool of myself.
I grimace as the scene before me reminds me of the day I met Lucas and Lyle. Students mill about, grabbing food from long buffet tables labeled with various categories. I grab a tray and start loading up.
Is today going to be one big case of déjà vu, minus a friendly Lucas to take me under his wing? Lucas and Lyle are too well-known, and they’ve already trained on everything Phósopoi related in their birth-Region.
I sniff, half because I miss my Goblin and my Mother Hen, and half because the salad I stopped in front of smells moldy. I move on to the hamburgers, praying Lyle planned something good for dinner tonight as I move one onto my tray.
I hear someone rush toward me and turn to see an over-bright Kieran carrying his own tray of questionable-looking gourmet.
&nbs
p; “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, Princess.”
I choke and sputter at the nickname but manage to recover quickly enough to return Kieran’s lopsided grin.
He motions to my tray. “Oh, good, you’re all set. Let’s go.”
Confused at his sudden invitation, I look down at my burger then up to stare at him. Social grace isn’t something I’d put on my resume. Kieran’s exuberance would normally disconcert me, but there’s an underlying warmth to him that’s almost calming.
His grin widens as he pantomimes eating then points between us to get the point across.
Far more eager than the day I met Lucas, I hoist my tray higher and shuffle to follow. He stops at one of the cafeteria’s large round tables, where three others already sit, waiting for us expectantly. None are as over-the-top with their reception as Kieran, but I don’t sense any hostility, either. Just mild curiosity.
“Right. Introductions. That’s Lakshimi.” He gestures to a girl with beautiful, long, black-as-night hair.
An inexplicable urge to touch it pushes me forward, but I restrain myself. Instead, I sit down and smile at her in greeting.
Her brown eyes crinkle as she nods. I have a feeling she knew what I was thinking. She must get it a lot with that hair. Her eyes hold an innate elegance and too much wisdom for someone who looks so young.
Duh, of course, the back-of-my-mind voice chides. She’s a Kladí, and from what I can sense, fully matured. Same with the others around the table. I mentally warn myself to stop judging Phósopoi by their appearance because most of my new companions are probably far older than they look.